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Two camera operators worked large devices on tracks between the stage and the rows of staggered seating. One moved into my eyeline. I shifted to see past, continuing my person-by-person search. Every face. Every member of crew, the audience, and any hanger-on.
On the far side of the studio’s seats, in the sixth row, a figure shuffled back. As if hiding or keeping a low profile.
My pulse spiked.
From all I’d been doing with Ariel, both in reality and all the other things I’d thought and worried about, my senses were ready. Instincts poised to highlight danger.
Making eye contact with Valentine, I tapped my earpiece and slunk off into the wings, circling the stage around the back by quiet corridors. Once I was out of sight, I spoke into the comms system.
“Think I see him. Stage right, sixth row, third in, sitting low in his seat. Checking in on him now.”
If I took the same position I had on the other side, I’d be able to see the man clearly without compromising the camera view we’d been instructed to stay outside of. But, if he clocked me watching him, I’d potentially activate the man.
I tapped my earpiece again, my worry increasing. “What’s the play?”
Ben acknowledged me. “Talking to the studio now to get a name.”
While recording, we had strict rules to follow. The studio had its own security team who managed the audience and waited at the edge of the stage, closer than we were allowed. Ben had to defer to them to manage any troublemakers—part of the insurance and the rules around Leo’s appearance.
But a handoff to them via Ben meant a delay. Another risk we’d identified but couldn’t mitigate.
I jogged the final distance, slipping carefully back into the wings across from where I’d just been. Counted the rows and heads.
An empty seat met my gaze.
My pulse spiked. I breathed through my nose, scouring the surroundings and all the happy faces watching the show.
“He’s gone,” I reported on the line, my concern morphing into panic. “I do not have eyes on him.”
“Valentine, flank Jackson,” Ben ordered. “Keep it calm.”
Leo chattered on, detailing his tour. The name of a song on his new album.
Behind him, beyond the backdrop, a shadow moved.
“Think he’s behind the set,” I snapped.
“Visual?” Ben asked.
“Negative.”
But the picture took shape in my mind, and I couldn’t see anything else. The loner obsessed with Leo who’d come all the way here with zero smile or plans to make good memories. He meant him harm. Had been biding his time.
He was going to hurt him.
Just like Ariel’s stalker planned to hurt her.
Just like my sister’s killer had exacted his plan.
“Pull Leo,” I gritted out, then I was running.
Several things happened at once.
Gordain strode into the strictly forbidden filming zone towards Leo, Ben with him.
The producer swore and yelled cut.
Our mark erupted from behind the set with his hand raised above his head.
